


Just a thought

by Bookish_penguin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale gets shook by Crowley's long beautiful hair, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Poor Crowley, Wings, anxiety mention, but lots of comfort, fluffy bath times, lots of hugging, who wouldnt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 13:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookish_penguin/pseuds/Bookish_penguin
Summary: Crowley has a nightmare, and it inevitably leads him to the only place—and person—where he knows he'll be safe.





	Just a thought

Crowley woke up feeling horrible, and that was the only emotion that stayed. 

The room was dark. Too dark. He thrashed out in the pitch blackness and couldn’t even see himself. His frantic heartbeats rang in his ears. They shook his entire frame. His hands quaked, turned numb, and as he brought them to himself to feel his face, he felt the slide of his cold sweat against his skin. His ragged breaths echoed too loudly and too harshly within these narrow walls. His head was spinning, and he thought he might have been falling even, but his back was still flat against the bed. All he could do was roll to his side, clutch his midriff and groan into the palm of his hand. Biting his finger till it bled, wondering what the hell was happening to him. 

It didn’t work. The longer he stayed there, curled up in a shuddering ball in the dark, the more frightened he became. He had to get out—get out and go somewhere, anywhere, far _far_ from here—

He flung himself off the bed. The cold tiles met his feet, sending shivers up his spine. He approximated where the window was, hidden behind the thick opaque curtains and all but barreled towards it, arm first. The glass shattered instantly. He fell out from the edge, head whirling from the abrupt drop underneath him. There were houses down there. Lights still on, windows still open. People still awake. And what was he doing? Why was he even here? 

He looked up. There it was. The full moon hanging just inches away overhead. Its brilliance chased away the shadows of all his thoughts. Up. He had to go up, had to go back home, to the place he started, where he’d been loved and he hadn’t been alone—

Wings unfurled from his back. In one great flap they launched him skywards, into a spiral that sent him breaking through the cover of clouds. But there was nothing here. Not a soul, nor a voice or a laugh or a warmth, just cold empty skies and a darkness reserved solely just for him. He couldn’t even see the stars. 

“What am I doing?” he laughed. And then that laugh turned into a sob. His wings stilled. The air beneath his feathers grew loose. No longer solid, no longer holding him, it let him fall. 

His wings and arms and legs were all still reaching out towards the sky. But they didn’t get him any closer. The wind roared in his ears, tore through his air, made his clothes flap wildly about his skin. It gently lifted the tears from his closed eyes. Like a chain of pearls being cut, those gleaming orbs scattered out in the air, becoming winking stars in the seamless sky. 

Now, wasn’t this familiar? 

He plunged into a surface. No, straight _through_ it. For a moment, his weight created a void in which water parted around as if in shock. Then it remembered itself, and claimed him, wrapping him in layers upon layers tenderly and completely, over every inch of his skin. Water shot through his clothes, into his ears, mouth, nose, everywhere. He gasped and swallowed a mouthful. It turned his stomach. Blindly, he struggled towards the surface where the moonlight gleamed in prismatic shards. He broke through that display, face first, coughing and retching and gasping all at once. 

When he’d calmed for a bit, he raised a hand from the water and snapped his fingers. Solid land struck his knees. He fell sprawled on cold stone steps, water still leaking from every inch of him. He shouldn’t have come here. No, he couldn’t let anyone see him like this. No, no not like this, not now, not here, not tonight. 

A bell jingled. A slice of gold light blinded him, so he hissed and ducked his head, leaning into the concrete ground. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried. Hands were on him immediately, pushing aside his hair, thumbing his cheek, steadying his shoulders. “Oh, my dear, what’s wrong? Please come in, it’s freezing outside.” 

By some miracle, the both of them managed to get inside. Crowley could barely stand. He didn’t move, even when Aziraphale coaxed him towards the couch where it was warm by the fireplace. He wasn’t going to drip water all over his open books and make the angel upset—no, that was the last thing he wanted. 

“Come on, Crowley. I’ll draw you a bath.” A soft hand found his, and another pressed lightly into his back. “We’ll get you changed out of these clothes, alright?” 

He let Aziraphale manoeuvre him into the bathroom. It was apparent on first glance that it was used largely for storage. Books were everywhere, stacked in the tub, on the towel racks, even behind the mirror. Aziraphale coughed lightly. The books took the hint and promptly vanished. 

“Midnight baths are nice, aren’t they?” he said absently, as he sat on the edge of the tub and cranked open the tap. Out gushed hot water, filling the room with steam. “After a long, exhausting day...I’ve ever heard it said that bubble baths are to _die_ for. Have you ever tried it?” 

Not really, he wanted to say if he had the spirits to do so. Much like sleeping, angels and demons didn’t really have the need of bathing. They were perfectly capable of keeping themselves pristine for all of time. Crowley only ever showered after visiting hell, and he’d be so intent in scrubbing the stench of sulfur off him that he never really paused to actually enjoy the wash. 

Aziraphale emptied half a bottle of something into the bath. It smelled of citrus and mint, all sharp and distracting scents that demanded all your attention. The water exploded into clouds of pink foam. Then Aziraphale straightened to face him. 

“Come here, dear. Alright, steady on.” He helped Crowley into the bath. Being a creature of hell, the boiling hot water didn’t bother him too much. It was warm, like hellfire, and strangely comforting. Crowley lifted a palm. A handful of foam perfectly maintained its shape. He shaped it into a duck. 

Aziraphale studied him for a thoughtful moment. “I think you’ll be better off without your clothes, don’t you suppose?” 

Crowley shrugged. He took them off anyway, just cause it seemed to be what the angel wanted. 

“Turn around.” Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves, and drew a stool towards the tub. “I’ll help you wash.” 

He richly lathered his hands in fragrant soap. Once it foamed between his hands, he rubbed it in soothing circles into his scalp. Then he moved to scratch behind his ears, taking care to massage his temples. Crowley sighed. His eyes closed. His shoulders slackened. He melted against the tub’s edge. 

Aziraphale worked his way slowly down. He overturned his palms to run his knuckles up and down into the sides and back of Crowley’s neck. Then he moved to his shoulders, where he dug in the hard edges of his thumbs with some force, inciting a wave of pain and pleasure that had Crowley rolling his head back. The slick hands slipped farther down. They kneaded into the sensitive spot between his shoulder blades where his wings connected, where it ached terribly.

Crowley groaned. The hands on his back stilled. “Let me clean your wings too, dear.” 

He leaned forward a bit to give them space to unfurl. But it was just impossible leaning against anything with huge wings in the way, so he sat hugging his knees while warm bubbles wrapped around him. 

Fingers sifted through his feathers gently. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Smashed through a window,” Crowley grunted. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“No.” _Not as much as everything else. _

Aziraphale hummed. Water sloshed as he scooped up a pailful and poured it over his wings, ensuring that it reached underneath his coverts and wet the feathers inside. He didn’t use soap. It’ll take hours rinsing everything out otherwise. So with only his bare hands, Aziraphale cleaned each and every feather from his primaries to his tertiaries and fixed them back in place. Crowley had never felt such devotion. He rested his cheek against his knee with his eyes closed, all his awful thoughts finally silent. 

“There. All done.” Aziraphale stood up and stretched. Half his shirt was soaked and there was soap all over his face and hair. Still, he looked very proud of himself. 

“What about you?” 

He blinked. “Me?” 

Crowley reached up to pinch away the clump of foam above his ear. He then pillowed his cheek against his folded arms and smiled wryly. “You look like you need a bath too.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” he chuckled. “The tub might need to be bigger, dear.” 

“Nah,” Crowley said thoughtfully, watching Aziraphale loosen his bow tie and undo his buttons. “We’ll make do.” 

“Willy old serpent.” 

“That’s me.” 

When Aziraphale settled down into the water, he spread his wings out and sighed contentedly. Crowley reached for one, cleaning each snowy feather between his thumb and index carefully. It took his mind off things. He’d be okay. For now. 

When he looked up, Aziraphale was watching him, cheeks pink and a tender smile on his face. “Come here, dear.” He opened his arms. 

Crowley gravitated into the angel’s embrace as naturally as the tide returning to shore. Aziraphale scooped him into his arms, lifting him onto his lap. Crowley clung onto those soft, sturdy shoulders desperately. As if he’d fall again just by letting go. Fingers reached up to thread softly through his damp hair. From there they ghosted down the sides of his face, playfully tracing his ear, sketching the sharp curve of his jaw. Crowley leaned into that wandering palm, kissing its soft skin. 

“It’s okay.” Aziraphale moved to touch their foreheads together. “Everything’s okay.” 

Maybe it’s because he was an angel. Maybe it’s because he was his love. But after hearing Aziraphale say those words, softly and confidently and with full conviction, they became a truth that Crowley believed with everything in his heart. 

He felt his face seizing up, his throat closing around a broken whimper. Hot, blinding tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, then ran down his cheeks like rain. 

“Shhh. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Aziraphale rocked him. 

A single word, so simple and yet could mean so much. He hid, tucking his face into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, and Aziraphale hugged him closer. 

White wings folded in to cocoon them. 

Everything would be okay. 

————

They spread out some towels on the bedroom floor for them to sprawl on and dry their wings. Crowley lay on his belly, black wings flat on either side of him. It took him back; to before—to a long long time ago, when people weren’t so fussy about lying on the ground. In Eden, Crowley liked lounging on sun-kissed rocks to sun his wings, and once outside, he loved basking on warm sand and dry grass and under canvas tents. Sometimes the humans would join him, and they’d bring wine and fruits and interesting talk. 

He’d never once had a single dull conversation while laying down. The act promised vulnerability, openness, which was what humans liked. But as the ages passed and the mortal world started inventing stuffy things like etiquette and manners, people grew more conscious and stopped the whole ‘lying down about in public business’. Crowley still did it. He once thought it counted as demonic work, by taking up entire benches at the park and generally making everyone uncomfortable. Head office had other ideas. Fussy about everything as ever. Oh well, it was worth a shot. 

He glanced up. Aziraphale was only a hair’s breath away, sitting cross-legged and brushing his own wings. With every stroke, it created a small puff of wind that smelled like flowers and soap. Crowley’s hands twitched. He wanted to run them through those white feathers, feel them part between his fingers like water around a stone. He wanted to feel Aziraphale’s soft curls, tug aside the collar of the loose cotton shirt he was wearing, bury his face into the velvet skin of his shoulder. Oh, but only if he allowed it. 

Aziraphale caught his intense eyes for only a moment. Then he coughed delicately. “You may, dear boy.” 

Crowley thought he was going to combust. “D—did you read my mind?” 

“No, but I can guess.” 

They stared awkwardly at each other. Crowley was the first to move, his wings lifting as if in anticipation. He covered his hand over Aziraphale’s. “May I?” 

His pale lashes fluttered. “Please.” 

Crowley closed the distance between their lips. He climbed onto Aziraphale’s lap, sliding down to straddle him, while Aziraphale tipped his head fully back to deepen the kiss. Crowley sought that warmth eagerly. He had no idea he’d been pushing, until Aziraphale’s back hit the floor and he gasped into his mouth. 

“Shit. I’m sorry.” Crowley pulled away, giving him some space. “You okay?” 

Aziraphale answered by yanking him back down. 

“Crowley.” His whisper tickled his ear. Crowley bit back a whimper. “Don’t you _dare_ stop.” 

Well. He’d be damned. So he peppered kisses down the sides of Aziraphale’s face, along the lovely curves of his neck and shoulder, and reached up his shirt to caress the unbelievably soft and tender skin of his abdomen. 

“You’re perfect,” Crowley told him, kissing him helplessly. Once to say_ I love you,_ twice to say _thank you_, and thrice because—did it really need a reason? 

Slow hands stroked up and down his back. Aziraphale hummed. “How are you feeling now?” 

He rested his head against the angel’s chest. “Nghhh? Heavenly.” 

Aziraphale’s laugh vibrated through his whole body. With a free hand, he caught a ginger lock between his fingers. “Your hair is always so lovely, dear. Wouldn’t you grow it out again?” 

“Why do you ask?” 

Those blue eyes gleamed. Within them harboured a warm, endearing light. “I saw Eve braiding your hair once, in the garden. Well...it might be silly of me, but I...I do want to know what it’s like.” 

Crowley thought he was dreaming. “To braid my hair?” 

“Oh, not only that, dear boy,” he said shyly, wickedly. 

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. Bashfully, he ducked his head into Aziraphale’s chest, and with a moment’s concentration, he felt his hair elongating, tumbling down in loose curls to his shoulders and then past it, till it fell halfway down his back. He hoped it didn’t look strange. After all, it has been a number of years since he’d snipped away his hair on an angry, anxious impulse. The world was ending, he was forced to deliver the Antichrist, and somehow he thought that cutting off all his hair would help matters. 

“I forgot how heavy it is,” he critiqued, turning his head this way and that experimentally. A few messy locks already fell over his face. “Err. Definitely needs getting some used to. _Nyek_—”

He yelped when the hands around him seized him closer. 

“_Crowley_.” Nothing else could rival the awe in Aziraphale’s hushed whisper. It was divine, it was holy, a prayer reserved solely just for him. “My dear. My love.” 

Aziraphale scooped up a handful of his hair. They slipped through the space between his fingers like auburn silk. He couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stop smiling, or beaming, and then all of a sudden, the sparkle in his blue eyes all pooled into tears. 

“Wha—” Crowley gaped. “Angel. Why are you _crying_?” 

Aziraphale did not say. Instead, he gently flipped them over, and Crowley felt every inch of his soft body draping over him like a duvet. 

“I was made to love the world and all of creation.” He cradled Crowley’s hand, and kissed the back of it. “You might think that is a lot. But I fear, my dear, that all my love for them combined still falls short of what I feel for you.” 

Crowley flushed, averting his eyes. He’d likely discorporate otherwise. “‘m glad you like it, angel. You know...back then, my hair always used to be long.” 

Aziraphale’s snowy brows raised. 

“U—up there, I mean. Before I—_nghh_—before I fell.” He cleared his throat. It had gone tight all of a sudden. “It happened so long ago, but I—I um, I still...dream...of it.” 

Aziraphale nodded. _Go on_, he seemed to say. With a gentle hand he tucked his unruly hair behind his ears and leaned down to kiss his temple. 

Crowley shuddered. It was hard to think, which made things even easier to say. It was now or never.

“And it _hurts_. It hurts, every single damn time.” He threw an arm over his eyes, his face seizing up. “And it’ll continue to, for—forever, you know? What am I supposed to do? What can I do?” 

“Oh Crowley, you just have to do what you’ve always done.” Aziraphale thumbed away the streaks of tears that cascaded down his cheeks. “Live and be brave. And when haven’t you done a good job of that? You’ve made it, after so many painful years. You saved yourself and others and me.” 

Inch by inch, Crowley withdrew the hand he hid over his face. The first thing he saw through a kaleidoscope of tears was Aziraphale, his kind eyes and his even kinder smile. Full of love. For him. For them. 

“You never stopped watching my back, did you? Running to save me, being my dashing knight in shining armour. Even while I was clueless about your feelings the whole time!” 

“_Black_ armour,” Crowley corrected. “But yes. Dashing. And yes, clueless. That’s you.” 

“Very dashing indeed.” Aziraphale kissed him. “Oh—but the point is...” 

“...The point is?” 

“The point is, it’s my turn now.” 

“Hmm?” 

“To take care of you, of course.” He stroked Crowley’s face, and wiped away the last of his tears. “Anytime you need. Anywhere you are. I’ll be here, always.” 

Crowley softened. Maybe it was true that the pain would never leave him. Maybe it’d be here forever, partying in his thoughts in the day, haunting his dreams in the night. But it won’t be the only thing that would stick around.

Aziraphale leaned down to seal their lips tightly shut again. Crowley sunk into the kiss willingly, gladly, lovingly. 

As long as someone was here with him, he didn’t have so much to fear after all. 

Notes:

Started writing this when I felt like shit, then finished it on another day when I felt like shit. I feel much better now :') Thanks for reading!

Edit: Now with a [companion fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20937392) for Azi :3


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